


Brooklyn Bridge at Night

by Banashee



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [17]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Deaf Clint Barton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Protective Clint Barton, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24963754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banashee/pseuds/Banashee
Summary: New York can be a very, very lonely place to be. One night, Clint comes across a teenager on Brooklyn Bridge, threatening to jump. He tries to help, but it hits a little too close to home.*+~Square - "Suicide Attempt"
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701046
Comments: 17
Kudos: 66
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Brooklyn Bridge at Night

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,  
> so, because I love a good writing challenge, I'm now taking a part in the Bad Things Happen Bingo.  
> https://badthingshappenbingo.tumblr.com/  
> Please mind the tags!
> 
> I'm cross-posting this to my tumblr, https://banashee.tumblr.com
> 
> This is my seventeenth square: "Suicide Attempt".

****

**Brooklyn Bridge at Night**

It's been a long day and Clint is dead on his feet, but still walking the way home instead of driving, waiting for a cab or taking the subway. He could have also taken Tony up on his offer of a ride, which he does sometimes, but today, he kinda wants this time for himself. 

All of those other options would have been a lot easier than walking all the way, but he’s also still in his uniform and carrying his bow and quiver. An Avenger attracts attention, even when they’re off-duty and not one of the shiny members that the newspapers love so much. 

Usually, Clint wouldn’t mind it, even though he’s still getting used to being “seen” and being out of the shadows of a spy organisation, having walked into the light of being on a team of literal superheroes. Three years is not long enough to be used to it. Maybe he’ll never be used to it.

Tonight though, he’d rather keep to himself before he gets home to unwind. 

Clint is not in a great mood, but things could be much, much worse, either. Right now, all he wants to do is curl up somewhere warm with Phil and Lucky and sleep for the next three days. 

He’s lost in thoughts, more so than usual, and he doesn’t pay as much attention to his surroundings as he probably should in New York at night. Clint is walking in a haze, impatient to finally reach his apartment. But then his gaze wanders - stops - and very suddenly Clint is wide awake. 

About halfway on the otherwise empty Brooklyn Bridge, there is a small figure, standing behind the railing and close to the edge. Way too close to the edge for comfort. 

Carefully stepping closer, Clint can now make out the figure to be a teenage boy, probably around 15 or 17, if he had to guess. He’s clutching the railing and even though it’s not audible over the wind and nearby city noise, his shaking shoulders make it obvious that he’s crying. 

Something dark and painful turns in his stomach, and Clint walks just a little bit faster, as fast as he can without jogging or running or losing the calm. He doesn’t want to scare this boy any further and stops a few feet away - just out of reach, not wanting to crowd the clearly distressed teenager.

“Hey. Are you alright?” 

Clint takes great care in keeping his voice calm and friendly, but the boy’s head whips around and he glares for a moment. Sniffles, then he says,

“Fine. Please go away.”

“If I did, would you get down here and go home as well?” Clint asks, already knowing the answer. His words make the boy look again, but this time, there is no anger in his dark eyes. Only desperation and more tears, and hey roll down his cheeks.

“Why do you care?” he challenges, and wraps his arms around his torso, as if to protect himself. He is tired - so very tired.

Honesty is the best way to approach this, Clint knows. 

He’s been in situations like this before - on both sides. He knows what it takes to talk a person down from attempting to end their life, knows how to keep them safe in the moment until they can get help, medical or otherwise. 

Clint also knows what it feels like to be the person standing on the edge, holding the gun or holding the knife in an attempt to end it. He understands the despair and emptiness that lead to decisions like this. Feeling lost and alone, too tired to go on - he knows all of it. 

But he also knows what life can be like after. He knows that even after all the pain and heartbreak, true happiness waits to be discovered. 

Coming from there, he may have the best luck now.

“Because I know what it’s like to be tired enough to give up. I also happen to know that things can and will get better, with time and most of all help.” 

The boy looks at him with interest now, but remains silent. At least he no longer stares down into the cold depths of east river. 

“Do you mind if I keep you company for a while?” Clint asks, still keeping his tone calm and even.

After a long beat of silence, the boy steps back a little, sitting down on the concrete floor and wipes a sleeve across his eyes. With a little bit of distance, but close enough to quickly grab the teenager if he gets too close to the edge again, Clint sits down next to him. He detaches the quiver from his belt and puts it down on the floor, right next to his folded up bow.

“I’m Clint.” he offers, hoping that the chatter will help, or at least keep the boy occupied. “Do you want to tell me your name?” 

The boy looks over, in the low light of the lamps hanging above them. His eyes wander to Clint’s face, then down to the shirt of his uniform and then the bow and quiver on the ground. His thought process is clear, and Clint waits patiently. He’ll go in whatever direction the boy next to him leads their conversation - anything as long as he can keep him safe.

“I’m Lucas.” he says quietly, and after a beat of silence, after another look he adds, “You’re Hawkeye.”

Clint simply nods at that.

“Sometimes, yeah. Right now I’m just a Dude.”

Lucas is quiet in the minutes that follow. His tears are slowly drying up, but he’s still tense. After a while, he looks back over to Clint, who is waiting patiently for Lucas to say something. 

Clint is calm and steady, keeping his posture open, but he remains quiet for now. 

“Your first instinct will be to fill in the silence - don’t. Let them talk in their own time.” he remembers the Agent leading the seminar about Suicide prevention telling them all those years ago. Clint knows the urge and fights it - despite knowing the other side, he still itches to say something, to do something. To help.

“Uhm. My parents kicked me out.” Lucas blurts out and starts fidgeting with the seams of his jacket. 

“I uh, I’m gay, and they don’t like that. Things have been difficult ever since they found out. Then we had a fight, just about a month ago. They told me to get out of the house and to never come back. Well, that’s the short version. There was also a lot of shouting and slurs thrown my way.” Lucas angrily wipes his eyes, trying to stop a new flood of tears, but it’s useless. He still keeps talking though, breathing hard and ragged while he does so.

“ I’ve been staying with my friend after that and he’s great, he really is and I love him for it, but… I’m just so tired, and I feel like a waste of space. Everyone will be better off without me.”

Lucas sounds defeated, empty and sad. But now that he’s started, he keeps talking, eyes locked on the New York skyline that is illuminated by thousands of lights in the night. 

It is a beautiful view, but both of them know that this city can hold a lot of heartbreak and loneliness. 

Clint listens to Lucas, patiently and mostly silent, only nodding here and there, offering words of comfort. Lucas cries at times, and Clint manages to find a pack of tissues on his suit that he hands over. 

Listening, really listening is something he is a master at, even with his physically shitty hearing. 

Clint doesn’t mind being here for people to vent to. That, and his ability to wait and sit in one spot perfectly still help a lot. He could never deny anyone this comfort if they need it.

The clock is ticking away, and Lucas just keeps talking, seemingly getting more and more comfortable around Clint.

Maybe it is a good thing that he’s recognizable in his uniform and with his weapons of choice close by his side. Or maybe an open ear and patient person to listen and be there is enough in a city that swallows people alive if they're unlucky is enough - whatever it is, it helps.

It is a near miracle, but Clint manages to get Lucas down from the bridge, eventually. 

He also walks him to the nearest hospital, because he is uncomfortable leaving him alone in this state of mind.

Lucas protests at first - he doesn’t have an insurance, he blurts out in a panic, but Clint insists as he tries to calm him down. The Avengers have charities for this, and they’ll keep in touch, he promises. Lucas looks at him with a mixture of hope and disbelief, but then he agrees, very silently and looking much smaller and younger than he already is. 

In the privacy of his own head, Clint thinks, that there is no way he would have left Lucas to his own devices. Even if there wasn’t a official way to help with this, Clint would have paid for the hospital bill out of his own pocket - as long as this kid is safe and taken care of.

He also calls the landline of Lucas’ friend, after he’s given him the number - Lucas refuses to talk to his own parents, and Clint understands - he knows how difficult these things can be. 

In the hospital, he waits with Lucas until his friend arrives with his Mom in tow. 

It doesn’t take them long at all, and when a tall and gangly boy around the same age as Lucas comes running to the waiting area, Lucas doesn’t hesitate when he pulls him into a tight hug, both of them refusing to let go for a long time. 

The mother, who seems to be an older, female version of her son, looks stricken and hugs Lucas as well, talking quietly to him and Lucas just nods, pressing closer to her in a way that is heartbreakingly vulnerable. 

Clint is starting to feel a little lightheaded, but he is immensely relieved that Lucas now has people he knows and obviously loves around him - they’ll figure out the rest.

Clint keeps his distance, not wanting to intrude in the private moment. Having a little time to catch his breath is also well needed - this night has taken its toll on him, and it’s starting to show. 

He still manages a small but honest smile and friendly words when their ways finally part, and Lucas surprises Clint with a sudden but tight hug.

“Thank you for being there.” he tells him, and Clint simply hugs back, hoping that this boy will get the help he needs - at the very least, he seems to have found a loving environment now, even when his own parents are unwilling to provide this. 

A nurse shows up and walks the three of them down the hallway, Lucas in between his friend and the mom, both having an protective arm wrapped around him.

Clint takes this as his cue to go home.

It is late, so, so late at night when Clint opens the front door and shuffles into his apartment. 

He’s started out the night exhausted, but now he’s completely drained. He lets his bow and quiver drop to the floor, and quickly joins them there. 

He sits right in front of the door, back propped up against it and legs sprawling all over the floor. 

Clint can’t make out the soft clicking sounds from Lucky’s claws as he rushes through the apartment to greet his favourite human, but he smiles when the dog runs up to him, tail wagging furiously and licking his face in true dog excitement.

Clint is happy to let Lucky do his thing, running his hands through the thick fur, leaning one cheek against Lucky. 

As always, Lucky seems to pick up on the fact that Clint is upset, so he remains close and simply lays down right on top of his legs, affectionately licking the hand closest to him.

Then, there are steps coming closer to Clint, and he looks up to see Phil coming up to him. He’s already in pyjamas and looking concerned as he kneels down next to Clint, softly kissing his forehead and brushing away a strand of hair. He leans into the touch, and Phil takes this as an invitation to pull him into an embrace.

“Hey. Are you alright?”

The choice of words is not at all unusual, but right now, they make him want to cry because it’s just the same phrase he used earlier to approach Lucas on the bridge. 

Clint chokes on his own voice, and then everything comes crashing down around him - the thoughts and emotions of his encounter with Lucas, the worry and the fear for this boy’s safety. His own, old memories and experiences. The long, exhausting day and the equally long week. 

His hold onto Phil tightens and Lucky shuffles closer, whining softly and pushing himself against Clint while he lets go of the pent-up emotions. 

Clearly worried, Phil strokes his hair with one hand and keeps the other arm firmly wrapped around him, talking low and staying close by his side. 

Clint can’t make out half of the words, too out of it to listen in the first place, and Phil’s voice is too low for his aids to properly pick up. But he can feel the vibrations of it, the soft and familiar rumble against him incredibly soothing. 

He’s home, and he can safely let go now.

After the worst of the storm has passed, Clint pulls away.

“Sorry about that. It’s been a long day.” He sighs, head leaning onto Phil for a moment longer, and then they both get up from the floor. Lucky still remains close to Clint, who reaches down to stroke his large head.

“Good boy, Lucky. I’m okay. It’s fine.” he’s starting to ramble, and stops himself when he realizes.

“Are you sure?” Phil asks, and gets a small nod.

“Yeah, I… I just need a shower. I’m gross right now.”

When Clint makes it to the bathroom and piles his clothes into the laundry basket in the corner, he knows that Phil is in the kitchen and making tea. He knows Phil is going to ask, but never pushing him to talk, because he never does. Instead, he’ll provide support in whatever way it’s needed, even when it’s entirely silent. But the offer is there. It always is - Clint will probably take him up on it tonight. 

Lucky, however, still follows him like a large, fluffy shadow. He nearly jumps into the shower with Clint, and it makes him laugh out loud, even with the salt of dried up tears crusty in his face, hair a hot mess and a pounding headache and racing heart. 

This goofy dog always manages to make him laugh, makes him feel better even on a dark day and Clint loves him dearly just for existing. He tells Lucky as much, even when he pulls him out of the bathroom to prevent a wet disaster at fuck o clock in the morning.

When Clint steps into the living room a little while later, Phil waits for him on the couch, two steaming hot mugs of tea ready for them. He settles down next to him and leans close, inhaling the comforting scent that is so familiar in a unique way that is so very much Phil. Clint has been associating this with home for many years now.

He accepts the warm mug that Phil is offering him, taking it with a small smile and wrapping his hands around it. The warmth helps chasing away the chill in his bones, and so does the feeling of being close to his partner.

Clint remains silent for a while, cuddled up with Phil, tea in his hands and Lucky sprawling on top of him. It feels good to soak up this comforting feeling of home, and for a moment, he basks in it, debating if he should just leave it at that. But deep down he knows it won’t last - he needs to talk about this. If only to get the thoughts out of his head, and so Phil knows where his mind is wandering. 

This night's encounter with Lucas has hit a little too close to home for him - he knows it’ll catch up with him eventually, and he really, really doesn’t want to go there again. 

After minutes of silence tick by, Phil turns over to him while he keeps drawing invisible patterns onto Clint’s forearm with soft fingertips.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, and Clint takes a deep breath. Then he nods.

“Yes, I think that would be good.” 

And so he does. 

*+~

Square: "Suicide Attempt"

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:
> 
> \- Attempted suicide of a teenager, not graphic, no blood or violence  
> \- Talk and thoughts about suicide  
> \- Implied homophobia, unsupportive family  
> \- References to emotional abuse  
> \- Mental health issues  
> -


End file.
